LARA OF JASOOM, Part II - Cliffdwellers of Mars
by Thuria
Summary: In a glittering ceremony in Helium, Lara weds Carthan. While on their honeymoon they explore a great rift canyon where they discover a portal into a past they never could have imagined.
1. Chapter 1

**LARA OF JASOOM, Part II**

CLIFF DWELLERS OF MARS

CHAPTER 1

"Lara, my love, you no longer need gainful employment."

Carthan and I were lounging on a sumptuous thoat-skin couch which encircled a glass-enclosed fire-pit. The fire, never allowed to go out, warmed his apartment's atrium which was filled with fragrant tropical plants, The flickering flames reflecting from my prince's eyes highlighted his strong resemblance to his grandfather, John Carter.

Before my abduction and subsequent adventures in Kolla's erstwhile kingdom, I had occupied a small suite in the servants' quarters in Carthoris and Thuvia's palace in Ptarth. After our return, I had resumed my former life, living in the same small rooms, and continuing with my work in the salon in spite of Carthan's ongoing protestations.

"Then what am I to do?" I asked. "I am no more a lady of leisure than Thuvia." With her charity work and ongoing renovations to the palace, Carthan's mother was the busiest person I knew.

"I've noticed," he commented, his grin transforming his face. Then he grew serious again. "However, you are an easy target for assassins."

My eyes widened. "Assassins?" I repeated, stunned. "Why would anyone wish to assassinate me?"

"If it becomes known that you are about to join the most prestigious royal family on Barsoom, an enemy could take the opportunity to have you killed, knowing your death would bring grief and chaos to the family of John Carter – perhaps even incite war with an enemy nation. Neither the salon nor the servants' wing are as well guarded as the royal residence. You are far too vulnerable."

A promise of marriage on Barsoom is considered a private matter and my co-workers at the salon had no inkling that I was betrothed to Carthan, Prince of Helium and Ptarth. "Then," I said, "we will continue to keep our engagement a secret until we marry."

"Except that royal weddings require a half year's preparation and the news is certain to get out." Then he added, with rare diffidence, "It would be safer for you if you moved in with me."

There are no customs upon Barsoom censuring engaged couples who live together. Nor did I have such scruples: I frequently spent nights with Carthan. However, I still retained a life-long old-fashioned notion that a woman should support herself until she is married, illogical as it may be on Barsoom. My work might be mundane, but it gave me independence.

I shook my head with a smile. "It might indeed, my dear, but even after all our adventures, we've really only known each other a few weeks. Furthermore, becoming a princess on Barsoom is a life-altering step for me, and I need time to adjust to the idea." I grimaced. "The mere notion of a 'royal wedding' in which I would be a principal participant is beyond comprehension."

Carthan bowed to my arguments, but as time passed it became clear that he was determined that I move into the royal – if not his – quarters. He contrived to make certain that we met frequently for exchanges of ideas and ideals – not to mention family dinners with Carthoris and Thuvia and more personal activities.

I remained adamant, and stayed on at the salon. I had resumed dying my skin and hair, this time with Thuvia's assistance, and only close scrutiny of my dark blue eyes could distinguish me from the red race of Martians.

My friend Vinia still teased me occasionally about my supposed relationship with Carthan. I said nothing as I went about my work as a beautician. However, after Carthan's warning, I began to wear a short sword. Though Barsoomian women are seldom visibly armed, it is not unusual for a single woman without relatives in a city teeming with warriors, foreign mercenaries and assassins, to be armed and know how to defend herself.

To this end – and with the recent abductions still fresh in their minds – a few of the palace's female servants had organized fencing classes.

While it had been decades since I had learned to fence, it is a skill one never forgets and I had kept it up for recreation on Earth. I had also tried to continue my Taijiquan drills as best I could in my quarters, though the area was too small for a thorough workout, particularly with a sword. I could not practice it in public. As this martial art form is unknown on Barsoom, it would draw needless attention to me.

The opportunity to practice openly with swords, then, was irresistible. The sessions were held in a large activity room used by the servants, and I arrived one evening to find about a dozen women, short swords in hand, thrusting and parrying under the direction of a dwar, Toran, who was one of the palace guards with whom Carthan practiced regularly. His eyebrows lifted in surprise when he recognized me, but he nodded an invitation to join in.

I could not hide the fact of my knowledge of fencing, but I could and did conceal the level of my skill. What I needed was practice, which could be attained through repetitious fencing drills. Toran was a good teacher, insisting on perfection. We fenced with tip protectors and chest padding, but the the lessons were still hazardous. When a student was injured, an unsympathetic Toran pointed out to her that one rarely made the same mistake twice!

As with most physically demanding sports, the better students eventually gravitated into a small clique which received extra attention from Toran. I was among them, and I think he suspected I was holding back because he was forever urging me to engage more aggressively. A few weeks after I joined, he began to pit me against Danalla, a muscular woman nearly as tall as I, who had joined soon after I did and who had considerable skill. I was careful to let her win most of our bouts, but It was nearly my undoing.

One evening, when Danalla and I were last to leave, she asked, "Would you care for another bout? We never seem to get enough practice together."

Always willing for a match, I accepted readily.

We saluted, but unlike our usual sessions, Danalla immediately charged at me, sword raised with both hands for a swing at my head. Startled, but never unprepared, I parried the blow – and then noticed she had removed the tip guard. Though she pressed me aggressively, I deflected her cuts and slashes with the ease of long experience. She soon realized she could not penetrate my defence, and that I had not delivered a single blow in return. She stopped short, staring at me in puzzlement.

"I think," she said, "that you are not as you seem. "You are clearly no tyro."

"Neither are you," I said, snatching away my tip protector. "Would you like to discover just which of us is better?" I asked through my teeth, deciding enough was enough! If she wanted a fight, I'd give her one.

This time she hesitated, but then she came at me with a veritable storm of blows, any one of which could have killed me. The thought of assassination finally dawned on me: at last I understood that I was fighting for my life.

"Why me?" I panted.

"What else?" Danalla sneered. "Reward."

And then Carthan's warning surfaced and I did not need the answer. Word of my betrothal to Carthan had somehow reached her employer, whoever he was..

Nor did she reply as she grimaced and aimed a thrust at my eye. I whirled away, returning a slash that sliced her arm, and then began to press her hard.

But assassins are without honour. When she saw I was about to take the upper hand, she swept her leg under my knee, sending me sprawling on my back. She then raised her sword for a death blow. Having kept a death-grip on my blade, I swung hard at the hilt of her sword and struck it from her hand. Rather than retrieve the weapon she threw herself upon me, wrapping her hands around my throat.

It might have been a desperate situation, save for one thing: my extraordinary abilities in Mars' low gravity. I grabbed her wrists and, unearthing from memory a long-forgotten technique, doubled my legs under her arched body and flung her over my head. Twisting to watch, I saw that what should have been a straightforward extrication resulted in her flying through the air to strike the far wall hard. Until then, I hadn't understood my own strength. She lay stunned for a long moment and then rose painfully, staggered across the room holding her injured arm, and limped out the door. The single glance she threw me was filled with disbelief.

Then I saw Toran, equally incredulous, standing in the doorway. I wondered how long he had been there.

I was in the salon the next morning as usual preparing for the workday when I became aware that the background chatter had dwindled to unaccustomed silence. I looked up at my mirror and met Carthan's furious gaze.

He knew.

The other women stared at us in awe as I turned to face him. Dressed in the full regalia of a Ptarthian warrior-prince, his harness and weapons belt studded with silver and emeralds, bristling weapons gleaming, he looked superb – and utterly out of place in that feminine domain. And he was mine. I couldn't help myself – I grinned from sheer pride at the sight of him. His stony expression fell away as if by magic, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. Saying nothing, he merely held out his hand. I did not need to wonder what he would do if I refused.

Resigned to the inevitable, I went with him willingly. Though distracted by the warmth of his huge hand engulfing mine, I remembered to glance back at Vinia as he tugged me away. "I'm sorry," I said. "I must leave now, and I won't be back."

With a knowing smile, she nodded, acknowledging my admission that she had been right about us all along.

By the end of the day I had moved with my few possessions into Carthan's spacious suite – and into a new life.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"Now, Lara of Jasoom, you will come with me," Carthan said, rising from the morning meal the next day.

"Where?" I asked, trying to read his unnaturally impassive demeanor – an odd contrast to his passion of the night before.

"I learned something interesting from Toran after he reported your attempted assassination. I need you to . . . demonstrate."

Curious, and not a little apprehensive, I walked with him along a maze of corridors through the ancient palace, now the home of Carthoris and Thuvia, but once the home of her father, Thuvan Dihn, Jeddak of Ptarth. Slowly the worn marble floors were being replaced, the palatial rooms renovated and refurnished – the work, Thuvia complained, of a lifetime. Our long walk ended at an exit door leading to an expansive outdoor practice court covered entirely with a solid roof. From a large cabinet built into the palace wall, Carthan selected two long swords. He then turned to face me, holding one of them out hilt first.

"When I was blind in the dungeon, you killed ulsios with one blow. In the swamp, you killed a great white ape unaided. In Jahor, you escaped from our prison by defeating one of its most capable guards. Yesterday, Toran told me he had never seen a woman fight as competently as you. I, however, have never seen you fight. Show me."

Slowly, I took the blade. I guess it's time, I thought with a sigh.

We saluted, and he engaged rather gingerly, uncertain of how far he could go. When he saw I had no difficulty keeping up, he increased speed and complexity, his eyes widening with surprise. In moments we were at it full bore. Though he was highly skilled, there was little delicacy in his fighting. For a large man – six foot four – he made up for a lack of elegance with speed, power and stamina. He is, after all, a warrior who would have to use all his considerable strength against a foe bent on taking his life.

While I was faster, I knew I could not keep up with him in a prolonged bout with the heavy and unwieldy two-handed long sword. Minutes passed, and as my energy reserves waned, I backed away.

He lowered his blade, shaking his head in wonder. "I should have known!" Then he noticed my exhaustion. "Lara? Are you well?"

Gasping for breath, I nodded. "It's nothing. My Jasoomian lungs require higher oxygen levels for this much exertion." Holding out the sword with distaste, I added, "Do you make these things from lead?"

Taken aback by my comment, he led me to a low wall where we sat in the sun overlooking an exquisite garden, and discussed weapons of war while I recovered my breath. I described the light, shorter foils used for competitive fencing on Earth, but he scorned them as ineffective and useless in warfare. I told him I thought the broad sword brutal and uncivilized. "Surely," I said, "it is better to run a man through the heart bloodlessly, than to chop him into banth fodder while he is still alive!"

He shrugged. "If my enemy has a long sword, I can hardly use a needle."

It is an ongoing debate for which there is no solution and from which we derive much entertainment.

Over the next several days we attempted a few more bouts, but when it became clear that I could not sustain a session sufficient for his needs, I urged Carthan to continue his workouts with his guardsmen.

I didn't miss those gruelling matches. I did miss the elegance of Earthly fencing, but there was no weapon upon the planet equivalent to a foil or even the Chinese jian.

I missed, too, having something to occupy myself. Carthan, whose vocation was cartography, spent long hours of the day in his map room, researching and collating his huge collection of maps, old and new. When I offered to help, he said it was at present a one-man job and that he would not need assistance until it came time to drafting the new, detailed world atlas he was planning.

Thuvia came to my rescue by asking me to assist her in her project of redecorating the palace. My decorating ability is woefully wanting, but she kindly assured me that my Earthly ideas were at least new to her!

My one routine that never varied was Taijiquan, which I now practiced daily in the outdoor court. One day, I was winding up a rigorous set of drills balanced on the toes of my right foot, right hand holding my blade high over my head, left arm and leg extended. With the energy accumulated in this pose, one could conceivably split a log – or a skull – in two. My concentration was broken when I became peripherally aware of someone standing at the door, watching. Unaccustomed to interruption, I brought the blade whistling down through empty air. Momentum spun me twice and I stopped short glaring into the face of John Carter.

Like Carthan, he is a feast for the eyes. Neither his black tunic nor polished harness and belt displayed any insignia or ornamentation. The only indication of his exalted rank was his weaponry, glittering with embedded rubies – a gem so rare on Mars that it is reserved only for royalty. Though Carthan is taller, the Warlord is far more agile, and quite as powerful as the athletic 30-year-old he appears. His most compelling quality, however, is his sheer presence. Whether conversing or fighting, his entire being is intensely focussed upon whatever he is doing.

I am sometimes asked why I am not intimidated by him. My answer is that we felt an affinity from the moment we met, a kinship of equals unsullied by rank – no doubt the legacy of our colonial origins on Earth. Since then we had conversed at length several times and become friends to the point where formalities were unnecessary.

"I am unfamiliar with that exercise," he commented in his Virginian drawl.

"It's Chinese," I said, calming, as the adrenaline dissipated. "I spent six years in a mountain village learning from Buddhist masters."

"The moves are incredibly graceful."

I dipped my head in appreciation. "Elegance of movement is just one of Taijiquan's benefits."

"Carthan told me you don't care for the broad sword," he said, bringing forth from behind his back two slim gold-hilted blades.

My eyes widened. "Épées!" I breathed.

"Épées were new when I left Earth but, at the time, I found them more versatile for practice than smallswords." He chuckled. "Like Carthan, my swordmaker in Helium has difficulty understanding what possible use they could be."

Speechless with delight, I clasped the exquisite embossed hilt of the one he handed to me. The grip was clearly sculpted for my smaller hand; its pommel an enormous spherical sapphire (symbolizing Earth?), the guard and blade delicately engraved. The weapon was a third of the weight of a Martian long sword, and perfectly balanced. Overwhelmed, I met his eyes. His look of anticipation was palpable – and irresistible as he slowly raised his matching épée in invitation.

For half my lifetime I had dreamed of fencing with John Carter. "Too bad your swordmaker isn't here to see," I said, beaming in delicious anticipation. "En garde, milord!"

Laughing, he saluted. We engaged tentatively at first as we each absorbed the other's technique, His defence is nearly impenetrable, his attack relentless, but even so, I sensed that, like Carthan, he was restraining himself. An underestimated Adept might be tempted to take advantage. . .

Men! I thought in pique. I waited for that fleeting advantage, then, with an ancient trick and a flick of my wrist, disarmed him.

As his weapon spun across the floor he came erect and froze in disbelief at the sight of the razor-sharp tip of my épée aimed at his heart. For a long moment I held my breath wondering how he would react. He regarded me with narrow-eyed conjecture which sequed into delighted comprehension. With a wicked grin he asked, "Do you really aspire to be Warlord?"

Releasing my breath with a huff of laughter I dropped my point to the floor. "God, no!"

"Good," he said. "I can't imagine how you'd explain it to Dejah Thoris." Retrieving his épée he asked, "Where did you learn to fence?"

"I moved to England in the '20s, seeking a new life and a new name. Though I was in my 50s, I looked 25. On the ship, while crossing the Atlantic, I came across a copy of your nephew's – your – first book and I must have read it five times on the voyage. It inspired me to take fencing lessons in London – at which, I was told, I excelled. As a Canadian, and hence a British subject, I was persuaded by my instructor to join the British Olympic fencing team. I won a medal under my new name. Years later in China, where fencing is an art form, I learned an entirely new set of skills."

Then began the most challenging match of my life. With his economy of movement, extraordinary speed, and ineffable grace, John Carter is without doubt the most formidable opponent I have ever faced. Never again, then or later, did he give me quarter. We were well matched, his strength and endurance offset by my still-faster reflexes and esoteric oriental training. With the lighter blades, too, I tired far less readily.

When the bout was over, both of us breathing hard, he shook his head in wonder. "Carthan said you were skilled. Does he know just how skilled?"

I shook my head. "Jack, he was so solicitous of me I could have run him through any time in the first two minutes." I added dryly, "Somehow I couldn't bring myself to do so."

He gave a snort of amusement, and then glanced down ruefully at his épée. "Never underestimate a woman who can kill a great white ape single-handedly. Thank you for desisting, Lara! If I had to avenge him, I doubt I could manage it."

I laughed at that unlikely scenario, and asked, "Am I correct in detecting your hand in his training?" When he nodded, I said, "You taught him well. While he lacks your finesse, he makes up for it up in sheer tenacity. He's inexhaustible! Fatigue was a legitimate excuse for me to cut the session short – I'd already pressed my luck by saving his life when he was blind."

"Ah yes, the fragile male ego. Although," he mused, "when you know him better, you may find Carthan's ego is more resilient than you believe. Someday, you know, he'll have to discover how proficient you are." He added with a grin, "I see I'll have to practice with him more often."

After that first match we fenced whenever he was in Ptarth, and then almost daily later that year when Carthan and I moved to Helium to prepare for the wedding. He also arranged frequent matches with his gratified – and unsuspicious – grandson.

John Carter told me that he particularly relished our bouts, never having had anyone with whom to practice the Earthly art of fencing since coming to Barsoom a century before. We challenged each other beyond our limits, freely revealing our tricks with the blade to the benefit of the other.

Several days before Carthan and I departed for Helium I was practicing Taijiquan drills as usual when Toran entered the court. He must have known that I preferred privacy but he strode up to me, unsmiling, and said, "We have not yet crossed swords. Would you care for a bout?"

Though taken aback by his unusual audacity, I nodded. "Of course, Toran."

He withdrew two long swords from the cabinet and handed one to me. I could hardly ask him to use an épée, and slowly grasped the hilt with both hands.

As he raised his blade to begin, he snarled, "I cannot allow you to taint our royal family with any more alien blood. You will die now!" And he set to with a will.

Flabbergasted, I found myself immediately on the defensive. We exchanged blows for long minutes, but I knew I couldn't keep it up. As I grew steadily weaker before his relentless onslaught, he backed me against the palace wall. I saw the death blow coming. Gasping for air and close to blacking out from lack of oxygen, I could no longer raise the heavy long sword to fend it off.

Instead, it was done for me. Another sword, wielded with rage-driven power, swept up to block the slash. Toran, who barely managed to hang on to his blade, turned to face Carthan. Without a word they went at it, and not for the first time I watched the transformation of Carthan from gentle man into a deadly fighting machine. The contest seemed endless. The clashing of the swords had drawn a small crowd of palace guards and servants; among them I saw Thuvia watching her son with an almost impersonal detachment.

Carthan soon justified her seeming lack of concern when he ran Toran through the heart.

We now knew who had hired Danalla to kill me, and why. As a royal guard, Toran would have been privy to the family's secrets – my true identity being one of them. How could anyone have guessed his loyalty to the family would have taken such a twist?


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Half a year later, my prince and I were wed in a stately public ceremony in Helium, the official seat of Carthan's paternal royal family. The city rejoiced as Carthan – grandson of John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom; great-grandson of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium – and I, Lara O'Dae, a woman from Jasoom, pledged our troth to one another with golden bracelets under the moons of Mars. We then rode the fabulously bejewelled ceremonial thoats through brightly-lighted streets where millions wished us well with wild waves and cheers.

Even upon Barsoom there is the tiresome custom of the "receiving line", and our list of guests from every corner of the planet may have been the most illustrious in its history. I believe there were 12 jeddaks present, beginning with Dejah Thoris's grandfather, Tardos Mors and her father Mors Kajak. There was Thuvia's father, Thuvan Dihn; and black Xodar from the Otz Valley. Ulysses Paxton, his princess Valla Dia and her father, Jeddak Kor San, had flown in from Duhor. Carthoris's sister Tara was there with her mate Gahan, Jeddak of Gathol, with their daughter Llana and her mate Pan Dan Chee. I met Kantos Kan, John Carter's great friend and now jed and Supreme Commander of the armed forces of the Heliumetic empire. In another life and another time he might have captured my heart with his charm and good looks.

You may imagine then what I felt when, already overwhelmed by this glittering assemblage, I saw striding across the vast throne-room floor the most fearsome creature imaginable: an alien, standing fifteen feet tall, with olive skin, six limbs and a frightful tusked visage I doubted even a mother could love. He wore an array of out-sized weaponry that could have (and probably had!) taken on a battalion. My self-preservation sense kicked into high gear, and my right hand twitched for a sword.

Then my perception shifted and, awestruck, I suddenly realized who he was. He stopped within a few feet of us while John Carter made the introductions. His great eyes gazed down at me in curiosity as he boomed, "Kaor, Lara of Jasoom!" Then he reached out to touch my now-red hair and said, "Remarkable!"

I couldn't stop myself from cringing when his huge arm came toward me, and my racing thoughts and frantic struggle to control my emotions must have been evident on my face.

"Do you fear me?" he asked, drawing himself upright in surprise. His words drew the attention of everyone in the throne room, bringing conversation to a halt. There was a disconcerting air of expectation in all those around me.

Intuition told me the only way to react to this complex, terrifying personage was with unvarnished truth. Hoping, too, that his long friendship with John Carter had familiarized him with irony, I said, "Admittedly, my lord, my first instinct upon seeing you was to run you through where you stood. Fortunately for us both I am not armed this day." With a smile I offered my hand, adding with heart-felt sincerity, "You honour us with your presence, Tars Tarkas."

His great shout of laughter filled the room. "I see what you mean, John Carter – she is a feisty addition to your already extraordinary family." Twice wrapping the long fingers of a great fist around my hand, the Jeddak of the Tharks offered a surprisingly graceful bow. "The honour is mine, Princess."

He stepped aside, turning to where his daughter had been waiting half hidden behind his massive bulk, a smaller but no less formidable version of her famous father. Sola and I felt an immediate empathy but our conversation was necessarily short. In time we would become close friends, spending many pleasurable hours in each other's company.

The two Tharks moved along the line after a few moments. Staggered at meeting them in person – and still bemused by the honorific – I swayed on watery knees. Both Carthan and John Carter gripped my arms to steady me.

I pasted a pleasant public smile on my face. "You might have warned me they would be here, Jack!" I said sweetly through my teeth at the Warlord of Mars.

He chuckled. "I had no doubt you would acquit yourself admirably, Lara."

"Nor did I, love," said Carthan with an admiring grin. "Well done!"

I rolled my eyes at him in exasperation. "I see. You were both testing me, knowing I had never seen a green man before. Don't ever do that to me again, either of you!"

I sensed but ignored the amused look they exchanged over my head.

. . . . . .

The celebrations lasted days throughout the Heliumetic realms, with jed and jeddak vying for the privilege of banqueting the newlyweds. It was a wearying time for both of us, and after a week of flying from city to city, greeting endless lines of citizens, and eating far more than was necessary to sustain life, we had had enough. Carthan and I decided, at the suggestion of Ulysses and Valla Dia to perpetuate the tradition they had introduced – the honeymoon.

There are still many areas of Mars that remain unvisited, some because they are known to be inhabited by warlike peoples; some by reason of sheer inaccessibility, such as the northern and southern poles and the enormous swamps which are all that remain of the once planet-spanning oceans; and others because explorers and mapmakers simply never returned home to describe them. Since Mars' land area is nearly as large as Earth's dry land area, there remain vast tracts where no one has ever stepped foot.

Carthan had always been fascinated by geography, and as a boy had pestered his grandfather for stories about Earth's famed explorers, and pored over maps of its seas and continents. He had even fashioned a globe at John Carter's suggestion. The globe still stands on a shelf in our apartments. Judging by its accuracy I believe he knows as much about my native planet's geography as I do.

There is another globe standing beside it – one of Barsoom, also made by Carthan, which labels vast areas as "unexplored". When the question of a destination for our wedding trip arose, we had no difficulty with the choice. One of Carthan's life-long ambitions is to explore and chart the undiscovered places on Barsoom. I simply wanted to see more of the planet. It was literally a matter of spinning the globe, shutting one's eyes, and touching a place at random. When I raised my finger, we saw that it indicated one of the little-known volcanic regions lying on the equator and west of Helium's longitude.

We took our time outfitting ourselves and our flyer for the trip. The Thuria was a wedding gift from Carthoris, being one of his on-going projects to improve the comfort of what was once a simple flying raft with an engine. Now regarded as Barsoom's pre-eminent engineer, he had constructed a strong, insulated, and incredibly light-weight cabin covering the entire deck, with every convenience imaginable, much like that of an Earthly luxury yacht. There was a fully functional kitchenette, complete bathing facilities, and a large bed/sitting room, all furnished with sybaritic elegance. He had also improved the efficiency, range, and speed of the radium engine, and streamlined the entire machine. Fifty feet long and twenty-five wide, the Thuria resembled an egg sliced in half lengthwise.

Carthoris then informed us, with no little pride, that with his improvements to the buoyancy tanks we could now circumnavigate the planet indefinitely. As well, recalling the numerous times he and his father had come close to asphyxiating in Barsoom's thin air, Carthoris had invented an oxygen extractor, and our flyer held the experimental model.

Having stowed into the spacious holds every conceivable necessity for a year of exploration, from food to winter clothing and weapons, we then brought on board the twin offspring of Woola, John Carther's "pet" calot, and his nuptial gift. To his great amusement I had named the female calot "Belle" (for her remarkable beauty), and Carthan named the male "Padwar" – forever to be known (at least by me) as "Paddy".

The young calots, full-grown and each the size of a pony, stood watching from the companionway of our ship as we rose slowly above the palace roof. Standing somewhat apart from the crowd of friends and relatives waving and shouting farewells, were John Carter and his lovely princess, Dejah Thoris, quietly looking on. Just before we boarded they had embraced us both, and the Warlord offered only two words of advice: "Be safe". I waved down at them, and wondered why he did not smile as he waved in return.

I soon forgot the tiny shiver that had run down my spine.

Our journey was leisurely, surveying the relatively-familiar and, at first, well-mapped landscape passing beneath us. We flew over hundreds of miles of the canal-irrigated lands which produce the bulk of the fruit and vegetable crops on Barsoom. Then, as the canals petered out, we crossed a thousand miles of moss-covered ochre plains, home to the nomadic Green hordes. Occasionally we floated over ancient abandoned cities, and once were fired upon by Green men riding hell-bent on their huge thoats. Days more passed before we left the plains behind and began to cross a vast rock-strewn desert where nothing could grow, not even the ubiquitous ochre moss.

We exercised the calots and ourselves daily, landing whenever possible in an isolated area with miles of space for running. The four of us would take off at a dead run, though soon the calots, with ten legs apiece, outdistanced us by far. While I could run faster than Carthan, my lack of stamina in the thin air forced me to pace myself, and Carthan, with his inherited Earthly muscles, would out-last me over several miles. Even though they might be out of our view, the calots always seemed to know when we turned back to the flyer, and invariably reached it before us. Once we were aloft, the animals would doze inside on the deck or out on the companionway that circled the ship.

Half asleep after a run one afternoon, I was gazing down at the passing scene, when I was struck by how extraordinary it was. "Carthan", I called. "Come see this."

He joined me at the window and exclaimed, "Issus! That is not on any map I have seen!"

It looked for all the world like the Grand Canyon, but on a scale so immense that, from our location at its western end, its northern rim was barely visible at the horizon. It was only later that I learned that the Mariner 9 Mars orbiter had spotted this huge rift on Mars, named Valles Marineris, in 1971, the year after we were wed.

The canyon, in places as wide as 150 miles, stretches a quarter of the way around Barsoom in an east-west direction – a fact we did not know then. We decided to spend a few weeks surveying and photographing it.

Carthan and I puzzled over why Barsoomians were unaware of this amazing natural wonder. We concluded that because most flyers cannot rise higher than a thousand feet, beyond which the air becomes too rarified to breathe, the canyon looks merely like unusual low hills. Even from our much higher cruising altitude of 20,000 feet – attainable only with our oxygen supply – merely a fraction of that vast chasm came into relief.

The next morning, after our exercise run on the plain at the edge of the canyon, we returned to the flyer to discover Belle and Paddy were not waiting for us as usual. We stared at each other, confounded. They would often run miles in a circle around the flyer, but always they were there before us, greeting us with their monstrous toothy grins. Where could they be?

We waited for two hours without a sign of them, peering around the horizon repeatedly in an attempt to spot our companions. After that we raised the flyer to several hundred feet to begin a search. Flying in an expanding spiral from our takeoff point, we must have covered a hundred square miles of the canyon and adjacent plain without any indication that life existed below. The plain at this point and the adjoining canyon wall were rocky, where footprints would leave no sign of their passage. Completely at a loss, we returned to our landing site to wait.

We waited all that night and the next day, and for several days thereafter without any sign of the animals. We could not even imagine what had become of them.

"They can't be dead." I said in despair, cuddling close to Carthan for comfort in the ship's lounge, staring out at the bleak, lifeless landscape.

"If it were at all possible, they would have returned to us."

"Then what has happened to them? There do not seem to be any creatures out here large enough to harm a calot, never mind two."

"Who can know what is out there when no man has returned to tell the tale?"

I sat up. "We must look for them."

"How? Where?" Carthan asked. "We could spend years out here in a fruitless search."

"Carthan, we have to try. We'll give ourselves a time limit – say, ten days. If we don't find them by then, we'll . . . " I couldn't continue. The consequence was too horrible to contemplate. How could we just leave them behind?

He smiled sympathetically, "Lara, you know they are well able to take care of themselves."

"But what if . . .?"

He interrupted with a finger on my lips. "Ten days, then."

I nodded mutely.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The flat desert land adjacent to the southern rim of the canyon was patently empty of life; what remained to search, then, was the four-mile high southern escarpment of Valles Marinerus that diminished into the distance toward both east and west. With the rift's 2,500 mile length stretching before us, it was a formidable needle-in-a-haystack task.

We began by taking the flyer close to the canyon wall nearest the place we had landed for our exercise run. Something had lured the calots away from the plain and into the deeply-fissured walls of the rift. Food, perhaps? Belle and Paddy always preferred fresh meat to the chunks of thoat we kept for them in our huge freezer. We found a place where access to the sloping cliff face could be easily negotiated from the plain, and slowly floated downward, seeking any sign that our friends had been there. There seemed to be the remnants of a pathway – or what might once have been a road – barely discernible, carved from the cliff face.

We had not gone very far before Carthan said sharply, "There!" as his arm shot out.

It was a moment before I focussed on the half-buried, faintly shining object to which he was pointing. "It seems to be metal of some kind."

Carthan moved the flyer closer to the slope until I was able to step off onto the ground. Clearing away pebbles and dirt, I picked up the object, staring at it in amazement. It was a gleaming silver-hilted rapier – or at least a Barsoomian equivalent – elaborately carved and decorated. There was green blood on the blade.

I started at the sight, and lost my footing. The loose shale under my feet gave way and I began to slide. The slide grew into an avalanche, taking me with it. Tumbled and tossed, with visions of a four-mile headlong ride, I felt utterly helpless until I realized I was still clutching the rapier. Clumsily, I tried repeatedly to thrust it into the ground to halt my precipitous flight, and when I was nearly exhausted with the effort, the blade caught on a rock. I clung to it with all my strength while the tide of earth, rocks and boulders flowed past.

Though it seemed an eternity at the time, it was mere moments before a horrorstruck Carthan, who had followed me down in the flyer, stationed the machine beside me and gingerly made his way across the unstable ground. I think he was more shaken than I as he gathered me into his arms and held me close, murmuring endearments. I was filthy, covered with small cuts and bruises, but otherwise unharmed. A soak in our luxurious bath, and Carthan's loving application of the wonderful healing ointment of Barsoom, would find me good as new the next day.

Here was a puzzle! The implications of the green blood on the blade were terrible to contemplate. Had one of our calots attacked someone, perhaps for food? The idea was unthinkable – domestic calots had been bred to protect humans, not eat them! The blood also meant that one or both of our pets was injured, or dead . . .

The rapier itself was unidentifiable. There was no insignia on the exquisite hilt, nor any maker's sigil on the razor-sharp blade upon which my rough treatment had had no effect whatever. While its design and length were similar to the rapiers used in the 17th and 18th Century back on Earth, Carthan said he had never seen its like, and that its opulence would be worthy of any jeddak. Judging by its apparent newness – and the blood on the blade – it seemed possible that the owner might still be nearby.

With the sun about to set, we were forced to delay further search until morning. We stationed the flyer a few hundred feet above the place where we had found the weapon, and settled in for the evening.

The rapier fascinated me. Ignoring my fast-healing cuts and bruises, I charged about the lounge slashing and thrusting, admiring the blade's perfection and enjoying its lighter weight, while Carthan looked on in amusement.

Next day while I lay half-asleep in the early-morning hours, I became aware of light beyond my eyelids. The sudden Barsoomian dawn was imminent, and I rose and walked to the great port-side window that faced the cliff. The sight that met my startled gaze caused me to gasp aloud.

A light sleeper, Carthan the warrior woke at once, reaching for his sword. "Lara! What is it?"

"Look!" I said, staring in wonder.

Our flier had inexplicably drifted downwards in the night and come to rest on a large rocky shelf, perhaps two acres in extent Against the wall of the canyon, outlined by the rising sun's brilliant rays and deep contrasting shadows, was the façade of an enormous structure carved from the sheer face of the cliff. A colonnade of a dozen monumental pillars soared a hundred feet to support an equally wide overhanging gable. The gable gave protection to a portico so deep that its inner wall was lost in shadow. It was as if an end wall of the Parthenon had been attached to the rock face.

The ancient road we had followed down the cliff widened into a plaza in front of the structure, its huge paving stones heaved and broken by time. The road, or what was left of it, then continued its winding course down the cliff, zig-zagging to the canyon floor more than three miles below.

We landed, awestruck by the magnificence of the ancient structure. As we approached, however, it became clear that the building (if such it could be called) was unimaginably old. Some of the pillars, badly eroded and cracked, looked as if they would topple with the next breeze. As the rising sun shed more light, we began to make out more details. Expecting solid rock at the back of the portico, we were amazed to see instead eight gigantic doors, all closed but one which stood askew and half ajar.

Carthan put out a hand to stop me from advancing. "Look," he said, pointing at the pavement ahead of us.

In the age-old layer of dust and dirt which covered the plaza, were the clear footprints of a human – and of two calots.

"They were here!" I exulted.

Carthan agreed, "It would seem so. The tracks go straight to that open door, but do not come out again. They must be inside."

Dubious about the stability of the pillars, we nevertheless approached the entrance and, carefully avoiding touching the ancient door, edged through its opening. At first the interior seemed to lie in stygian darkness, but as the sun rose, its growing light began to illuminate a seemingly endless arched corridor.

Another benighted cave! I thought. Half my days on Barsoom seemed to have been spent in caves.

Fading radium bulbs lit our way as we followed the calot tracks deep into the tunnel-like avenue which bored straight into the heart of the cliff. We walked several hundred yards before arriving in an enormous courtyard, its smooth walls shaped from a vast natural well open to the sky. The bottom of the well where we stood was a few hundred feet deep and still in darkness, but I saw it would soon be illuminated by the rising sun reflecting off the walls.

Around the entire circumference of the courtyard were circular windows – dozens of them – each five or six feet in diameter.

Most were dark, but as we wandered along, staring in wonder, we found a few were brilliantly lit with what appeared to be living scenes of cities, of the Martian landscape, of strange rooms, of an active volcano, and in one case a gently rolling sea. Even as we watched, those that were alight began to fade and go dark as the sun rose higher. I am having difficulty finding the words to describe that space. Nothing in our experience could explain what we were seeing.

"Through the looking glass," I murmured in English, while Carthan repeated an old nursery rhyme about some Barsoomian fairyland.

Carthan then recalled the calot tracks and found them easily in the dust leading directly to one of the now-dark windows. The tracks ended at the window, as if they had passed through it. They did not come out again.

Curious, we drew closer and were able to discern the outline of the window's circular frame. When we ran our hands over the wall we felt and saw only a smooth, oddly spongy surface. Further investigation showed that the courtyard was a dead end. With no other recourse, we returned down the tunnel to the main entrance.

Not far from the great doors, we saw an elaborately-carved door in the tunnel wall that we had not noticed before. There was no sign of a handle or lock.

So I knocked.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Nothing happened for long moments, but just as we turned away to leave the structure, someone opened the ancient door.

I stared at the creature standing before us. "Curiouser and curiouser," I murmured.

One seldom sees signs of age in Barsoomians, even among those nearing a thousand years. The tiny woman framed in the doorway, brown-skinned with snow-white hair, may have been twice that old, so wrinkled and shrunken was she. With a huge toothless grin, she rubbed her hands together in evident delight and said, "Ahh, strangers among us. Welcome! Come in, come in! My name is Thiessa."

By now both Carthan and I had our swords out – he, his long sword, I, the rapier. The ancient woman spied my glittering blade, and said, "Oh! You have brought back my grandson's weapon. Thank you!" Before we could answer, she opened the door wider, saying, "Come in, come in."

One can imagine with what suspicion we stepped through that door, but suspicion turned to amazement as we looked around the huge space beyond. Imagine Fontainbleu Palace in a cave on Mars! Marble floors and walls, carved and gilded pillars, exquisite frescoes on the arched ceiling, glittering jewels studding the frames of enormous delicately-etched mirrors. I had thought Kolla's sumptuous throne room excessive, but this was beyond belief.

Thiessa, who was watching us with a calculating eye, asked, "Do you like my house? Beautiful, isn't it? Plenty more like it too."

With the mad thought that I'd better not eat the decorations, I asked, "More houses? In the cliff?"

"Yes," she said. "Thousands and thousands. Perhaps millions."

"All like this?" Carthan asked with incredulity in his voice.

She nodded. "All empty but this one. You could have one like it, if you wanted."

What a thought – imagine living within the wall of the Grand Canyon! I struggled with that for a moment. "You live in this place alone with your grandson?"

"No – alone. My grandson died 359 years ago." She shook her head with a melancholy sigh. "He fell from a ledge. Silly boy. Should have known better. Grew up here. Knew about cliffs."

"But the sword is new. With green blood on the blade . . ." Somehow I was having difficulty tracking the conversation and took a breath. "You said the blade was your grandson's."

"It was. He'd dead now." She waved a casual hand. "You can have it. Plenty more."

I blinked. Really? "Thank you. But, the green blood . . ."

"Oh, I did that. Thought I could use some fresh meat. Went out looking for rock jumpers for supper. But the calot just ran away when I stabbed it, with the sword sticking out of it. Both of them did. Then I was afraid and ran away too." She shook her head in disbelief. "Very strange. Never known calots to do that before . . ." She looked at us sharply: "Why do you keep talking about green blood?"

"The calots are our companions," Carthan said.

"Ahh," she said. "Are they good companions?"

"Where did they go?" Carthan struggled manfully to maintain the continuity of our discussion.

"Through a portal."

"What?" came from both Carthan and me.

She stared at us narrowly. "Where did you say you were from?'

"We didn't," Carthan said. "But we live far to the east."

"Ah. So you don't know about the portals."

We shook our heads.

She gave us a huge gummy smile. "Then come and have some tea and I will tell you a story the likes of which you have never heard."

That I could believe!

So we sat meekly at a magnificent marble table, drinking a bitter unidentifiable tea, while Thiessa told her tale . . .

"Millions of years ago," she began, "Barsoom's surface was half ocean, half land. This was long before the Rift was formed, and before the Moon Mother rose to the stars. There were no men on the planet then; only the great apes and the predecessors to today's Green hordes."

"Excuse me, Thiessa, " I interrupted. "Moon Mother?"

"I will explain," she said, and continued. "There are many tales about the origins of the first men. Each race – the brown, the red, the white, the black and the yellow has a different version. But in the beginning all had the same First Mother. She and her kind had developed from a tiny worm that lived in the sea. The worm grew into a fish. The fish crawled upon the land when the oceans began to recede, developed limbs and a head, and learned to stand on two feet.

"The race of men spread into every corner of the planet, from pole to pole, each tribe developing its own unique characteristics – colour of skin and hair, slanting eyes, and the like. Each group claimed and defended its own section of Barsoom, which still remain essentially the same today.

"The fortunes of the brown race, however, would be far different. They first settled on the once-rich plain that the Rift (she waved her hand toward the canyon) and the Moon Mother now occupy. Their skin was brown, their hair white, and they possessed extraordinarily large brains and high intelligence. From basic farming, their culture rapidly advanced to an industrial civilization. With the resulting population explosion, they came perilously close to consuming all of their resources. War broke out between opposing factions. It was a terrible, brutal war, where weapons containing the power of the sun were utilized to kill the enemy.

"Some of the weapons were buried deep under the ground not far from this place. An accident – or perhaps it was sabotage, no one lived to say – caused the entire store of weapons to explode. The resulting smoke and dust gave the rest of Barsoom spectactular sunsets for many years. But something far more devastating occurred. The planet began to split asunder. We called it the Great Rift of Barsoom which, over centuries, grew from a flat plain to the great gorge you see now. At the same time, farther to the west, a mountain began to grow. It grew so mighty and so high that it was believed Barsoom would give birth to another moon – hence the mountain's name, Moon Mother. When it had finished growing, scientists at the time pronounced it to be the highest mountain in the solar system.

"There were not many left of the brown race after the explosion, but there were enough to start over. It was bred into their descendants that such a catastrophe should never happen again.

"The race struggled, trying to live off the contaminated land, and their population barely held its own for thousands of years. When the rift canyon began to form, they saw an opportunity, and made their homes in caves in these cliffs, utilizing the fresh clean soil in the canyon bottom for their crops.. What started here as a small colony, resulted, over thousands of years in a mighty subterranean city. The walls of the entire canyon were occupied.

"But the brown race had one fatal flaw. They seemed incapable of controlling their population growth. There came a time when the population tripled and quadrupled in just a century. Fortunately they were also a highly cultured people, with vast scientific knowledge still undiscovered in this age. If they could not control the population, they must find a place for all. A great scientist, whose name is now lost in time, developed a time portal that could take one into the far past. You saw the portals – the windows in the Great Gallery?"

We nodded.

"Each one is a doorway to a different era of the past. If a family became too large or a community ran out of space, some of their people would migrate through a portal into the past where the population was smaller. It was effective in more ways than one. The population gradually dwindled to manageable levels; and those who went back carved more homes into the cliffs which, hundreds or thousands of years later, would be occupied again by those travelling back from later years. Each time a new family moved in, more wealth and luxury was poured into the home, resulting in" – she waved at the walls – " this."

Carthan and I sat silent, trying to absorb everything she had said. Some of it made sense, some it unlikely. But the rest . . .? And travel in time? It seemed impossible. Was impossible!

"I see you do not believe me," the old woman said. "I am not surprised. But it is true. Look about you and you will see the evidence of the ages. This," she said, waving both her arms at the walls and ceiling, "was a dark, empty cave millennia ago. Each generation – each dynasty – added to its size and opulence.

"But I am the last of the brown race. There are no more. Will be no more. All the houses are but empty shells."

"Why?" Carthan asked.

"Why? Because we discovered the secret of eternal life. But the secret had a terrible price, and the price was infertility. There were no more children. And even those who live forever can die."

"How can an immortal die?" I asked.

She shrugged. "When the heart is stopped. How else? Most became insane from boredom or loneliness and killed themselves or each other." She shook her head sadly. "My grandson was one of the last children born. Sometimes I wonder if he . . ."

She was silent for a moment, then sat up straight with an abrupt mood change. Almost cheerfully she said, "In the past, we are still alive. All I would need to do is enter a portal and they are all there . . ."

"Then why have you not done so?" Carthan asked.

"Because I am the last Keeper of the Portals. If I leave, who will tend them?"

"In what way do you tend them?" I asked.

"Ah, but that is the Keeper's secret alone."

Carthan asked, "How can we find our calots?"

She stared up at him in amazement. "You would follow those beasts through a portal?"

"If it meant we could bring them back here, yes. They are loyal friends, worthy of our help. How badly did you hurt them?"

Thiessa was silent as she absorbed this. The notion of an animal being a friend was clearly a new concept – there is no word for "pet" in the Barsoomian tongue. "Hmf," she grunted. "The one I pricked had no difficulty running" She thought for a moment. "Very well. I will show you the portal they entered, but if you find them and wish to return, there are certain things you need to know."

"Go on," Carthan said.

"First you must know that it may be difficult to retrieve them. The time period they inadvertently chose was a complex one with a large population Your animals were no doubt captured the moment they arrived."

"What will happen to them?"

"They would in all likelihood be held captive and put on display. Tame calots were unknown in that era."

"They would not be injured or killed?"

She looked shocked. "Of course not!"

Well, I thought, that's a comfort. I asked, "What else do we need to know?"

"How to return to the present time. There is a very precise procedure you must follow if you are to come back to the very next instant after the one you left."

"The next instant . . .?" I repeated. "How is that possible?"

"I am the Keeper," said Thiessa, raising her chin in pride. "I will explain all. Meantime, we will eat, and sleep until just before dawn. Then you will go."

After our simple meal, Thiessa showed us to a gorgeous, if somewhat dusty, chamber furnished with a large sleeping platform tumbled with silks and furs. We had wished to sleep aboard the Thuria, but she insisted so vehemently that we remain with her, that it seemed futile to argue. Carthan did persuade her to allow him to pick up our day packs from the flyer. He then took the flyer to a steep gorge in the canyon wall, where it would remain virtually invisible in our absence, and locked it down.

"I don't know what to think about Thiessa," I said later in our room, drawing a platinum, ruby-encrusted brush through my hair. "Do you find her credible, Carthan?"

He shook his head, as he divested himself of his harness and weapons belt. "Ambiguous, perhaps. First she gives the impression of senile old age, and then relates the history of her people in succinct, scholarly terms. Is she truthful when she states she will aid us? I am not sure." He sighed and sank onto the bed, drawing me down beside him. "I cannot fathom why, but I believe she is trustworthy."

I smiled as I snuggled next to him. "I hope you are right . . ."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Thiessa woke us peremptorily about two hours before dawn, urging us to hurry.

We dressed quickly, gathered our weapons and few possessions, and all but ran to the reception room which appeared also to be her sole living quarters.

"Sit down. Sit down," she ordered, placing food before us. While we made a hasty repast, she instructed us. "Now listen carefully. I will take you to the portal through which your calots passed. It will close at sunrise an hour from now. As you may have surmised, the portals are open only at night, being recharged by the energy of the sun during the day.

"All you need do is step through. I do not know what or whom you will find on the other side. I do know it is the portal to an age about six hundred years in the past. (Earth year circa 800 AD). That time period was known for its prosperity and peace, so you should have little difficulty finding your friends." She opened a golden box that lay on the table before her, and removed a circular gold pendant suspended from a sturdy platinum chain. She handed it to Carthan. "Put this Key about your neck and do not lose it, for your future and that of your mate and companion calots depend on it."

Carthan dropped the chain over his head and fingered the pendant, which appeared to have a large dial set in its face. "What is it?"

"It is an extremely sophisticated chronometer, which runs on star-time in both your present and of the era you will be entering. As you step through the portal into the past, you must hold down this blue knob. The instrument will then automatically set your home destination and return-time to within a milli-tal. When you return, you must be touching each other, or only the person holding the chronometer will pass through. Unfortunately I have only the one – not many ever wished to return to their own times, so only one Key was provided for each portal."

"How long will we be able to stay in the past?" I asked.

"As long as you wish – or need to. A hundred years if you like. But when you return, no time at all will have passed here."

I thought about that. "So . . . when we return, you will not have aged at all? But if we stay a century, we will age a century?"

She nodded with her toothless grin. "That is correct, my dear."

I studied her frankly for a moment. She looked different from the woman who had opened the door – somehow straighter, younger, though the wrinkles of age were still upon her. "Why the dissimulation?" I asked. "Why pretend at first to be what you clearly are not – a senile old woman?"

"I had to be sure you were what you purported to be. By trying to confuse the conversation, I discovered you had but one purpose – to find your calots – and not a secondary purpose of theft or murder. My possessions are valuable, but far less so, evidently, than your companions!" She rose from her chair. "Come – it is nearly time."

We followed her, parallelling the footprints of the calots down the long dim corridor, until we reached the portal chamber. Only a few portals were alight, and Thiessa warned us not to touch any part of them. "If you touch them, you will enter, but you do not know what you will find. You may not enjoy the experience." She pointed at one which showed a dark, fiery world of chaos. "That one leads to a time when the Moon Mother's vulcanism was at its peak. There were thousands of years when all Barsoom burned and darkness reigned."

She stopped, pointing. "Your portal is there." She indicated the dimly-glowing window about thirty feet ahead of us where the footprints had ended. She stopped as she ushered us past. "I must not go any farther because my body holds certain energies that could carry me in with you. From here, proceed to the portal, hold hands, and step through simultaneously, pressing the blue button as you do so."

Carthan and I paused before the portal, trying to make out the tableau it revealed. Perhaps a large room? We held hands, looked back at Thiessa, and then –

"Good fortune be . . ." we heard her say as we stepped through.

It was a large room – even larger than the glittering mausoleum Thiessa called home, but its appearance and purpose were clearly quite different. A sort of Ellis Island perhaps, was my first thought. The space was a huge cube in shape, perhaps two hundred feet in each direction, the walls, ceiling and floor all black (as Barsoomians now say) "as the heart of Issus". The material, in fact, looked much like obsidian, shiny and free of cracks or blemishes. However, the space was well-lit with hundreds of great radium globes that seemed to float at random throughout the room. The place was filled with row upon row of comfortable seating, much like a theatre. However, there was no no sign of any humans – or calots.

With the same thought, we turned simultaneously to look back at the portal, and were relieved to note that we could see through it to the chamber from which we had entered. We could see Thiessa, standing as still as a statue, her eyes fixed upon the portal. Though we waved, she gave no response. This, then, was where we all must return together to make our way back home – back to our time. From this moment on, we must be diligent about taking note of every detail of our location.

Even as we watched, the circular window began to change. In moments the portal became indistinguishable from the coal-black wall.

Gripping his hand, I smiled up at Carthan. "No turning back now, love."

He drew me close for a kiss. "Have a care, beloved. If we are separated, return to the place we last saw each other."

We were holding each other thus, when we heard a startled exclamation. "Oh! There is someone here! I thought the alarm malfunctioned. We so seldom receive migrants now, that we have stopped watching the monitors." A woman with pale chocolate skin and snow white hair caught into a tail on the top of her head, swept into the room. "Swept" is the appropriate word, for she was wearing a striking floor-length gown made up of layers of narrow panels of vari-coloured silk. The woman herself was tall and erect and, as with most Barsoomians, of indeterminate age. She spoke what I supposed to be archaic Barsoomian, but which was nonetheless understandable. "I am Fenna, portal attendant."

"I am Carthan and this is Lara."

She looked us over carefully, noting our clasped hands. "Are you mated?"

We nodded as one, smiling at each other.

"Did you arrive by accident or with purpose?"

"Purposely," said Carthan. "We came to find our companions – a pair of calots – who strayed into this portal a few days ago . . ." His voice trailed off, as he absorbed the thought that a "few days ago" might not apply here!

"Ah, yes – the calots. They were a handful. Kept trying to return through the portal but of course could not without the Key." She was not officious, as I had expected, but treated us with respect and a pleasant directness, which tended to inspire veracity.

"We have a Key," Carthan said, as he fingered the pendant at his chest.

"Which is all very well, but they are no longer here," she said, regarding us, I thought, with sympathy.

"Where are they then?" I asked.

"They were taken to the university for study. The fact that they did not try to harm anyone was so unusual, that it drew the attention of one of our animal behaviour scientists."

"This is the university?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Our science academy is several levels up and eastward of the portal terminal."

"Then that is where we must go," Carthan said, "but we will need assistance finding the place."

"That is easily done, but if you are to depart this facility, you must first register with us. We cannot have strangers wandering about without identification. Please follow me."

That made sense, I thought, as we walked across the shining floor to a far wall. The woman pressed a nearly invisible stud and two doors slid open. She faced me, saying, "You will enter here, and you – " she looked at Carthan, "there."

"We do not wish to be separated," he said.

She shrugged. "Then you must remain here until tonight when the portal reopens, and return to your own time."

"Why must we be separated?" I asked.

"So that we may confirm that your individual stories are in agreement."

Though that, too, made sense, I cast Carthan an anxious glance, to which he smiled reassuringly. I walked through the door. A much smaller and more familiar room lay beyond – clearly an office, with a desk and two chairs. The woman, who had entered with me, bade me sit, and took the other chair. In front of her, lying flat on the desk, was a thick, oval-shaped sheet of glass or similar substance, which displayed lines of writing. She tapped on the glass and the writing began to flow horizontally. I had never seen anything like it.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

"Name?" She asked.

"Lara."

"Do you have a second name?"

"O'Dae."

"Where were you born?"

"Upper Canada."

To her, of course, the English words meant nothing. She looked up. "Where?"

"A place on Jasoom."

She half rose out of her chair, and looked at me in astonishment. "I thought you must be Thern!" she exclaimed, staring at my white skin and red hair, to which I had reverted when we had moved to Helium. "Jasoom?"

I nodded.

"Are you from one of our colonies?"

I blinked. "Colonies? Barsoom has colonized Earth – Jasoom?"

"You did not know?"

I shook my head. We stared at each other, each absorbing the other's revelations.

She shook her head, and recalled herself to her duty. "How old are you?"

"About 50 Barsoomian years."

"Too young to have children," she murmured while tapping something on her pad.

I stared at her in disbelief. What? If anything, I was too old . . .

And then everything that had baffled me for years fell into place. The fact that both Dejah Thoris and Thuvia had been over fifty Martian years old when their children were born. The fact that, to my eternal sorrow, I had never had children. The extraordinary longevity of John Carter, Ulysses Paxton and myself. The three of us must all be descended from Martian colonists who had lived on Earth! How long ago? I wondered.

She watched me as I tried to absorb these incredible concepts. "How did you reach Barsoom? Only one of our colony ships ever returned . . ."

"I cannot explain it," I said. "It seemed to be – " I struggled to find the words – "wishful thinking." An understatement for my miraculous and instantaneous journey to Mars, to say the least!

She looked at me in awe, and whispered, "Corporeal transition, over tens of millions of haads. I thought it was a myth."

Again, I gaped at her. "You've heard of it?"

"Indeed I have, though few believe it is possible." She leaned back in her chair with a humorous sniff. "Well! A day of surprises for both of us, it would seem." She looked at me apologetically. "I would love to hear your whole story, but if we are to get through this by sundown a week hence, we had better proceed."

The questions that followed certainly did not have the impact of the first few, being chiefly about my occupations and personal interests. Why such would be of importance for what I suppose one could call a visa application, I couldn't imagine. I told her (among other things) that I had been a nurse, a pilot, and a teacher, and that my interests included flying, sailing ("on water?"), tennis (which had to be described), swimming and running ("really?"), and fencing.

"Fencing." She repeated the Barsoomian word I had used for swordplay.

"Yes," I said. "On Jasoom it is considered a sport and no longer used in war."

'Here, too," she said, to my surprise. "When there is no war to occupy men, they must still have their toys. But it is rare for a woman to participate."

She eyed me with speculation. It was not until much later than I understood why.

With a few more mundane questions, the interview was over. Fenna sat reading the moving script on the glass pad for a time, and then looked up at me. "While you and I have been speaking, my colleague in the next room has been interviewing your mate." She glanced down at the glass pad. "We can now confirm that your stories are within one percentile of agreement."

How had she arrived at that figure without consulting her colleague? "How do you know that?" I asked.

She merely tapped the frame of the object on her desk meaningfully, then stood. "Come, we will now have a meal and determine your next step."

As I rose and passed the desk, I glanced down at the oval sheet of glass, which still showed the local script. Even as I watched, the light in the glass faded to black. Thiessa had told us this age was advanced from our own, and I wondered just how far. While we had room-sized rudimentary computers on Earth in the 60s, certainly none of them could have done what this mechanism had done if what she said was true.

I followed Fenna down a long corridor to a large utilitarian cafeteria with unfamiliar kitchen facilities, and filled with trestle-type tables and benches indicating that it once had been a very busy place. No longer, for it was empty. She showed me to a table, and then busied herself preparing a meal. I was just beginning to grow anxious about Carthan, when he and his male interrogator walked in. Carthan, who looked relieved when he saw me, greeted me with a hug and a kiss on my forehead. He introduced the man as Karn.

Within a few minutes we were consuming a luncheon of cold sliced meat wrapped in a type of flat bread and dipped into a delicious sauce. Each of us was given a large glass of water to which had been added a lemony flavouring.

Not long after we finished, I began to tell Carthan about the revelations I had learned, but my mouth refused to obey. I focussed on my hand in an effort to move my fingers, to no avail. My eyes were the only part of me I could control. From the corner of my eye I saw that Carthan, too, was unmoving.

My thought processes, however, remained active. Drugged! If I'd been able to move, my rapier would have lengthened the satisfied smirks on the faces of our interrogators. How dare they!

"Well, done, Fenna," said Karn. "They are certainly prime candidates."

"Indeed," she said, "though I foresee problems gaining their cooperation."

The man, whose skin was a darker brown than Fenna's, was somewhat shorter and stockier than she. He possessed the same pleasant demeanor, and I was not suprised Carthan had also been deceived by the man's apparent cordiality. I began to berate myself for our gullibility, but realized that we'd had no choice but to trust them. It was either that, or return to our own time without Belle and Paddy.

Karn spoke as if he had read my mind. "They have no choice, and they know it."

Fenna addressed us. "You have not been harmed. The drug causes temporary paralysis which will wear off in a short time. If you do as we suggest, there may be no further need to drug you. The decision is yours." She smiled. "We know you are angry and disappointed in us – who would not be? But this is too great an opportunity to ignore, and, if you are willing, you could benefit as well."

In what way, I wondered, could we possibly benefit from being slaves to another's will?

The drug did wear off within the hour, but by then we had been stripped of our weapons and tied hand and foot.

I recovered shortly before Carthan, and said through gritted teeth, "If you truly believe such treatment will gain our cooperation, you are very much mistaken."

Fenna merely smiled and waited until Carthan was able to move. I watched as he tested his mobility and strained at his bonds. Tense as a coiled spring, he snarled, "Release us. Now!"

Fenna said, without any sign of intimidation, "Would you have given up your weapons voluntarily if you had known they would not be returned to you?"

"Yes," I said.

"No," growled Carthan. And therein lies the difference between women and men, on Jasoom or Barsoom!

Both Fenna and Karn laughed. "For hundreds of years," Karn explained, "we have found this to be the safest way to relieve warlike immigrants of their arms. Your weapons are safe and will be given to you the day you decide to return to your own time. We are a peaceful nation and none of us carries personal weaponry. If you walked among us armed to the teeth, what do you think would happen?"

I nodded in understanding, having lived all my life unarmed in a peaceful nation. However, the concept was utterly foreign to Carthan, and I watched my brave warrior do battle with his most basic instincts. I said to him, "I believe they are telling the truth, love. They have not harmed us in any way."

He glared at me, and then at them. "I despise trickery. They could have asked."

"And you would have refused," I pointed out tartly. I looked at Fenna. "You said you would assist us to find our calots. If we agree to your terms after hearing them, will you still do so?'

"Of course." She stared askance at Carthan. "In fact, I will release your bonds now and explain all if your mate will pledge not to kill us out of hand."

I looked at Carthan's stormy expression, and smiled. "Rage will not help us find Belle and Padwar."

Slowly he mastered his anger and relaxed. He held out his manacled hands toward Fenna. "On my honour I will not kill you."

Dubiously, she looked back at me. I nodded. "He would die before breaking his word."

Fenna and Karn released us and, holding hands tightly, we followed them to yet another room, this one a smaller, more intimate lounge, with comfortable couches arranged to face a large blank wall.

Fenna said, "Since you know nothing of our era or of our cities and customs, we wish to show you a (the word was unfamiliar) which should assist you greatly in finding your way about when you leave here. She then pressed a knob on a small machine built into the wall before us and a second later, the entire wall lit up with a huge, vividly clear aerial view of Valles Marinerus – the Great Rift of Barsoom. What was for all intents and purposes a travelogue movie, took us to all parts of the gorge, showing stunning scenes of hundreds of thousands of dwellings, shops, theatres, municipal premises – everything required to serve a sophisticated civilization – all within the cliffs. There were subways, elevated transport systems, roads and walkways, subterranean passages, and impossibly delicate bridges perched precariously on rock faces Life teemed everywhere.

"This is Rift City, where we now are. When you wish, I will take you to Vanat, who is the director of our science institute. It is he who has a proposal to offer you."

"Ah, so we are to be science experiments?" Carthan said.

Fenna looked shocked. "Of course not! Your calots are in his keeping. We thought you would like to see them. And," she added with a little laugh, "I believe he would appreciate your assistance in calming them. They are creating chaos, to say the least!"

I bit my lip to repress a laugh; Carthan caught it and rolled his eyes. After a moment he said, "Very well. We are prepared to leave now."

Fenna smiled, rising. "I will get your immigration documents, and then we will go. Please follow me."

It seemed too easy, even for me whose country welcomed strangers with open arms. "But we are not immigrants – merely visitors." I pointed out.

"We do not have any other form of permit. You are the first in memory to indicate you wish to leave again. In fact," she smiled, "we hope you will change your minds and thus we keep the way open." She led us back to her office, where two official-looking forms lay on her desk. We could not read them, of course, and had perforce to believe her assurances that they would give us the freedom of the city.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The Science Academy had been carved (by what means we had yet to discover) out of the sheer cliff, The university was enormous, rising dozens of storeys above, below, and to either side of us. Fenna took us along moving hallways and both vertical and horizontal elevators to the main lobby, where we were greeted by a porter who conveyed us to another level several floors above. Here we were ushered into the office of Vanat, who was the Academy's senior director. On Earth, perhaps Dean or President would be the equivalent terms.

Vanat was short for a Barsoomian, but trim and neat of appearance, with an unusually large head and a commanding presence. "Welcome!" he said heartily, clearing expecting us. "I will take you immediately to see your calots, and after that we will converse."

Carthan and I grinned at each other as we followed him. Vanat must have been desperate, to have skipped the niceties!

He led us through several corridors and up two floors until we arrived in an enormous area divided into smaller rooms by walls of glass or some similar transparent substance. Many of the rooms contained life forms, some unfamiliar. Long before we saw our calots, we heard them. Vanat had to shout over the noise, "They howl all day, trying to climb the walls in an attempt to escape. My staff are nearly mad with despair, not knowing what to do with them."

The room – or rather cage, for such it was to them – was large, perhaps 50 feet square, but Belle and Paddy would not be contained. They were clawing at the far wall when we arrived, and more mournful howls I have never heard. I didn't know if they would be able to hear us, but I called Belle at the same moment Carthan called Padwar. The sudden silence was startling, and Vanat began to chuckle with delight. Anyone who owns a dog will know what happened then, as they flew toward us and threw themselves against the wall where we stood.

"Open it," my prince snapped, forgetting his manners.

It is unlikely the eminent Vanat had ever received such a peremptory command, but with the alacrity of a foot soldier he applied some sort of device to the lock, and swung open the door – being careful to use it as a shield.

Holding up his fist in a "stay" signal, Carthan entered the room while our calots crouched on their ten legs, quivering in every muscle, barely able to contain their joy. I followed closely, pulling the door shut behind me. Calots, of course, weigh about a thousand pounds, and could kill a human unintentionally with a swipe of a deadly claw or an affectionate nip with their three rows of needle sharp fangs. We managed to subdue them sufficiently with hand signals, telepathic commands, and loving words, to be able to give each a thorough belly rub. It must have been an impressive sight to Vanat – who would never have seen a tame calot – to watch our fearsome pets lolling on the floor in ecstasy.

After a few minutes, we felt compelled to attend to our host. When we had calmed our beasts with soothing words and promises to return soon, we left the now-quiet room and followed Vanat back to his office.

Vanat began. "I believe our representatives at the portal have given you some indication that I have a proposal for you. No doubt you are anxious to return to your own era, but I wonder if you would consider remaining here for a time?"

Sensing that our reaction would be negative, he held up a hand. "Allow me? You are aware that when you return, there will have been no passage of time. Which means, as I believe you know, that you could literally spend years here, unmissed at home." He shook his head when he saw Carthan's frown. "No, no. We have no intention of detaining you against your will. Rather, I would attempt to persuade you to stay."

"You may try, but we promise nothing," said Carthan.

I would have been more compromising – the notion of exploring an entirely new civilization at our leisure appealed to me. But I said nothing to contradict my warrior.

Vanat nodded. "Are you aware that we have sent colonies to Jasoom?"

"You have!" I exclaimed. "I thought it was a previous era . . ."

"That is true – it was attempted about five hundred years ago. But when the ships failed to return, our predecessors gave up. Three years ago we revived the project and have sent two ships to Jasoom. In the past year one ship made it back. The tale they told was horrific.

He shook his head at me gloomily. "Yours is a warlike people, Lara of Jasoom. As peaceful folk, we were completely unprepared when we encountered them. Some of our colonists have been killed, many taken as slaves. We have no warriors in our gentle peaceful society. Yet, clearly we need them."

Shocked, it took me a moment to orient myself: we were discussing Earth as it was 1200 years in my past. "Where did they land?" Indian territory in North America? I wondered . . .

There was a glass pad before him, similar to the one Fenna had on her desk, and with a few taps, the thing lit up. When Vanat held it up toward me, I saw displayed an incredibly detailed map of the Earth. He pointed at the colony. "We thought a small island would be easier to settle, but the indigenes had other ideas."

Ireland. I swallowed a laugh, reminding myself sternly of the tragic facts.

I shook my head in disbelief. "It's unlikely you could have chosen a worse place to settle. They are my distant ancestors, and they had a history of unremitting warfare. With limited arable land and a tendency toward overpopulation, they squabbled amongst themselves for centuries. Further, they were constantly being invaded by other lands, who mistakenly thought they were weak and vulnerable. Your colonists would have been seen as invaders, and if there is one thing that will inflame an Irishman, it is the thought of strangers taking over his homeland." Even the mighty Romans, I reflected, had elected to leave Ireland alone.

Vanat nodded slowly, pondering my words. "Ah – now all is clear. But how could we have known . . . our colonists minded their own affairs, made no effort to settle any but empty land . . ."

"Look at me, Vanat," I said. "What do you see?"

He said, "I see a beautiful woman, with white skin and red hair."

I said, "And I see a man with brown skin and white hair. I am Irish. I see an alien." Granted, it was hyperbole but I wanted him to take the point.

He was quick. His eyebrows shot up. "Colour prejudice?"

I nodded. "It has always surprised me that while a person with a different skin colour is notable in a Barsoomian city, there is no prejudice involved. Black, white, red, yellow – all are accepted as they are. On Jasoom, however, there have been age-old traditions, particularly among the white and yellow nations, that the other races are intellectually inferior. This stems from the simple fact that those races were slower to achieve civilization and were considered intellectually inferior by the more advanced." I added ironically, "What superior race would wish to interact or intermarry with barbarians?"

"But," Vanat protested, "we are not barbarians!"

I shrugged. "You know that but do they, when you do not speak the same language?"

He stood suddenly. "I will need to think on this. Meantime, I will show you to your quarters where you may find sustenance and rest."

Carthan asked, "May we have our calots with us?"

I put my hand on my husband's arm. "Surely that would be impractical unless there is a garden nearby . . . "

Vanat smiled. "That has been attended to."

We followed him back to where Belle and Paddy were being held. Eying our pets apprehensively, Vanat then led the four of us through endless hallways, down dozens of storeys in several elevators, and found ourselves, utterly lost, in an elegant many-roomed apartment at the base of the cliff. The sun shone brilliantly over a walled garden, perhaps five acres in extent, filled with exotic trees and flowers growing in the fertile soil of the valley bottom.

Vanat said, "I trust this is satisfactory. In the morning I will send a porter to guide you back to my office for further discussion." Bowing slightly, he turned and left.

It had been a long day. After our evening meal, as we sat on a bench watching Belle and Paddy romping joyfully in the garden, I told Carthan about Fenna's revelations.

Carthan was not surprised. He said, "Of course I knew nothing of these colonization journeys to Jasoom, but there had to be an explanation for your – and John Carter and Vad Varo's – so-called longevity." He smiled as he took me into his comforting arms. "It never occurred to me that you did not know you were still too immature to have children."

Immature! I thought, giggling into his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

We were led by the porter next morning not to Vanat's office but to a gymnasium deep in the heart of the cliff, and shown to a gallery overlooking what appeared to be a sword practice session. It took but a moment to determine that all the participants were novices and I heard Carthan gasp as they chopped away at each other with heavy swords, completely lacking in even basic skills. Fortunately they were protected by thick body padding and face masks, or some would have sustained severe injuries. Even so, several of them sat on the sidelines nursing cut and bruised arms and legs.

Exchanging a horrified look with Carthan, I turned away, my arms crossed in sympathy, unable to watch. "Issus," I hissed.

At that moment Vanat entered with a thin, wiry individual who observed us as if we were worms in a jar. His sneer did not enhance a face already deeply creased with

lines of disillusion. He was not a happy man.

Vanat said, "Ah, I see you have deduced our problem."

I gave him a disgusted look. "Who are these people? Where is their instructor?"

"These people are the next colonists to be sent to Jasoom. We are attempting to teach them defensive skills. This is Gamon, their instructor – if such he can be called since he now declines to teach them further." Vanat glared at the man, who refused to meet his eyes. Clearly they loathed each other.

Then Gamon flung out both arms toward the colonists. "Look at them! They are impossible!"

Carthan, trying valiantly to keep the contempt from his voice, said, "How long have you been instructing them?"

"This is their fifth session! As you can see they have learned nothing!"

"Forgive me, Gamon," said Carthan, clearly not wishing for forgiveness, "but what of your own skills?"

When Gamon's face darkened with fury, Vanat answered, "Gamon is allegedly Rift's best swordsman, but since he feels incapable of passing on his knowledge, we had hoped you" – and he looked at us both – "might be interested in taking his place."

One of Carthan's eyebrows rose, but he remained polite. "But surely anyone with even minor ability could teach the basics."

Gamon exploded with fury. "How dare you! I am Barsoom's finest swordsman, and for this insult I challenge you here and now to a duel! I will show you 'minor ability.'"

Taken aback, but obliging as always, Carthan said, "I accept."

Before I could even think of protesting, Vanat began clearing the hall. The duel would take place then and there!

As the novices crowded into the balcony, I joined Vanat on the floor to watch as Carthan and Gamon saluted each other in the age-old manner, hilt to forehead.

Because the choice of weapon was Gamon's as the "injured party", they were not using broad swords as Carthan had expected, but blades very much like the bejewelled sword I had found. My heart sank with the first exchange as I realized Carthan, using an unfamiliar weapon, may have met his match. Gamon was skilled with the rapier, and while my gallant prince put up a creditable defence, within a few minutes Gamon disarmed him, the blade slithering to my feet.

Carthan's innate integrity nearly cost him his life. Unperturbed by the loss of his sword, he turned to get it. Wide open to his opponent, he did not see Gamon's cunning expression, did not see Gamon's arm rise, and was unaware of Gamon's deadly intent. With my enhanced Earthly reactions – and in a fraction of the time it takes to tell – I squatted to snatch up the sword, launched my body horizontally, and stretched. As I flew toward Gamon, the tip of my blade slithered the length of his, deflecting his death thrust barely in time. Somersaulting as I landed, I sprang to my feet raising the rapier up over my head with both hands.

(Interrupting a match is not proper protocol, I admit, but I could not have my husband slain before my eyes!)

Gamon screamed, "Stay back, woman! I will have him!"

"Over my dead body," I said through my teeth in English as I followed through with the swing straight at his head. He would have been decapitated if he had not parried the blow.

He had no qualms about fighting a woman and came at me with a fury I have never before encountered. However, my gruelling sessions with John Carter had prepared me well. Retreating somewhat, I subtly led him on, allowing him to think he had the edge while I watched his swordplay. Some of his techniques differed and though he was unpredictable and therefore deadly, it was his arrogance that would be his downfall. My long and varied experiences had made me flexible. My rigorous training in China had taught me much more about fencing than the strictly regulated, stylized duelling of the Western world.

As we exchanged blow after blow, I saw that he lacked the calm, effortless elegance so apparent in John Carter's fencing. When he suddenly turned his back to hide his next move, I recognized the intent, sprang toward his right, and backhanded a stinging blow on his backside with the flat of my rapier.

Nothing could have humiliated him more, but by then I no longer cared about niceties. He twisted and charged me with a furious flurry of violent two-handed slashes with little science behind them. Now in the grip of his own rage, he had made himself vulnerable. I began to press him hard and as he retreated, parrying my ever swifter cuts and thrusts with feverish desperation, he began to falter with dismay as he realized he had met his nemesis.

He knew too that I could kill him at any time, but I had no intention of doing so. I stopped short, en garde, calling "Enough!"

He snarled something incomprehensible, and kept coming, having brought his sword into position for a slice at my carotid in the momentary break I had created. I whirled away, blessing my Taiji drills as his blade whistled past my shoulder. With the momentum I had gained, I pivoted again and, clipping his blade just so with the same precision I had used on the Warlord, sent his weapon flying to bounce off the far wall and rebound almost to our feet.

He snarled in rage. I had gained, not respect, but an enemy. He shook with apoplectic fury as he scrabbled after his sword and charged me again.

"Stop!" Vanat shouted.

Gamon ran at me, intent on murder. Now gasping desperately for air, I readied myself for another onslaught. Then from the corner of my eye I watched in horror as my infuriated, weaponless warrior prince charged an armed man. It was the bravest – and most harebrained – thing I'd ever seen Carthan do. He came in low, and with a tackle worthy of a football defenceman took Gamon with him to the floor. Somehow Gamon clung to his sword and attempted to slash at Carthan's head. Carthan grabbed his sword arm and hung on. I joined him, kneeling on the other arm while the man bucked, kicked, and screamed obscenities.

Our audience cheered.

"Vanat, call the guard!" I shouted, hoping there was a guard.

Vanat was just turning away to do so, when Gamon suddenly went limp. "Do not, Vanat, I yield," he said in a normal voice, the abrupt change of tone and mood a stark indication of an unbalanced mind. Carthan and I slowly released him, both wary of his intent and alert for his next move. He rose to his feet, visibly pulled his tattered ego together, and smiled. The smile did not reach his eyes as he gave a stiff bow.

"My apologies, sir and lady. Sometimes my temper overpowers me." He turned toward me. "You have remarkable skill, lady. I have never met anyone who possesses such speed. What is your secret?"

Why not tell him? If he had an excuse for losing the bout, he might calm down. I said, "I was born on Jasoom."

It worked. His eyes widened as he absorbed the implications, and then he relaxed his tense body, clearly vindicating himself. "We must meet again some time." He waved a negligent hand toward his students, who were watching in speechless fascination. "They are yours. Good fortune be with you."

We watched, stunned, as he casually strolled from the room.

Vanat was the first to recover. He said to us, "As you see, we are in desperate need of an instructor . . ."

"Lara –" Carthan began, and I knew what he was about to say. I was not the best choice!

"Carthan is your best choice," I interjected. "These people need defensive skills with the broad swords used on Jasoom in this timeline, not fencing skills which will not be developed for a thousand years. If anyone on Barsoom, present or future, knows about survival in warfare, it is he."

"Then," Vanat said, facing Carthan. "I beg you will consider it."

Looking at me speculatively, Carthan said. "We will give you our decision tomorrow." He picked up the two rapiers, and strode toward the door.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

In what seemed to me an ominous silence, Carthan and I followed our guide back to our quarters and I was somewhat apprehensive as we closed the door behind us. I had no idea how Carthan felt about my interference in his bout, and could not have been more astonished when he faced me, took my hands in his, and kissed each one.

"So that is your Jasoomian 'fencing'," he said, using the English word. "Teach me. I knew you were skilled, but not to that extent!"

I looked up into his earnest brown eyes. "You're not angry with me?"

"For saving my life? Hardly." He shook his head. "No wonder you dislike the broadsword. Like Gamon, I've never seen anyone wield a blade with such precision and speed."

"Your grandfather is fast."

"Yes he is." He frowned. "When have you seen him cross swords with anyone?"

"You have forgotten, love, that I invited you to join our practice bouts. He and I have crossed swords frequently."

He stared at me for a second, then closed his eyes as he remembered. "Of course, I recall now. How frequently?"

"Whenever he was in Ptarth, and then almost daily in Helium."

He blinked in surprise. "And you can keep up with him?"

I nodded, biting back a feminist retort. "With lighter blades, yes. He and I are well matched."

"Great Issus! How could I not have realized it?"

I hugged him, barely able to get my arms around his great chest. "You were busy, beloved, with your maps."

He looked at me sharply. "Did you ever best him?"

I hesitated – what could I say? I looked away when I answered, "It was practice, not war . . ."

A look of awe came over his face. "You did!" he whispered. Shaking his head in wonder, he picked up the rapiers, handing one to me. "It is not yet noon. May we begin now?"

He would have saluted me then and there, but the entrance to our new home was rather small for the purpose. Delighted with his boyish eagerness, I laughed, took his sword hand, blade and all, and led him to an enormous room in the depths of our home that might have been a ballroom, with sparse furniture, a polished floor, and a high ceiling. We pushed the chairs and tables against the end wall, and then squared off.

Of course, with his years of experience, he already possessed the basics of my art, though in the beginning he tended to be heavy-handed and found one-handed fencing foreign to his nature. But he learned rapidly, and I knew that with a few more sessions I could begin to introduce the intricacies.

But not today. When he would have gone on all afternoon, I called a halt, telling him I had done my share of fencing that day. He finally focussed on my panting chest, limp hair and perspiring face, and had the goodness to look abashed.

I smiled up at him. "Care to join me in the pool to discuss our future?"

. . . . .

There was really very little to discuss. It was patently obvious that the migrants needed help, and neither Carthan nor I felt we could walk away from the challenge.

Having so informed Vanat, we met with the colonists on their scheduled day for practice. Altogether there were fifty in the group.

One might wonder why these people were so willing to leave their comfortable lives in the Rift, but there are always those among humankind who are never satisfied with easy living, and seek adventure. How else could our planets have been populated?

On a raised platform in the gymnasium, Carthan and I would demonstrate each initial move, and then while our students practiced, we wandered among them checking and correcting their performance and frequently engaging them to elaborate a point. This system worked well for a time, but in every group there are those who learn more quickly. We had perforce to divide the group in half, Carthan taking the more advanced, and I the slower. Thus were eight days out of the ten-day Martian week taken up, and believe me it was gruelling work. Even Carthan, with his limitless energy, welcomed our two days of rest.

However, Carthan and I had the calots to consider as well, and we exercised them every afternoon. We found a large field on the floor of the Rift lying fallow, and there we ran while Belle and Paddy ranged far and wide rejoicing in their freedom. I found too that my body benefitted from the denser, richer air at the bottom of the canyon.

The immigrants' self-defence lessons lasted about six months (Earth time). By then we knew most of the colonists well, and a few had become close friends. Several had gained considerable proficiency with the sword, and the rest, with varying skills, were well able to defend themselves. As with most teachers, it was difficult for us to face the termination of our work, and the loss of good friends when they would leave us, and their life on Barsoom, forever.

Consequently, it was a surprise when Vanat visited us one evening and came straight to the point. "I have been petitioned by the colonists to inquire of you both if you would be interested in leading their expedition to Jasoom."

Carthan sat stunned, trying to absorb the implications. I leaned back in my chair, smiling ironically at the ceiling. Life can offer very strange twists of fate. How could I ever have imagined visiting my own planet 1200 years in my past!

"Yes!" I said.

"No," said the ever-conservative Carthan.

"Why not?" I asked him.

"I . . . we . . .what of the calots? Do you really . . .?"

I smiled at my suddenly incoherent mate. "We can put them through the portal to wait for us – which, for them, will be no time at all," I reminded him. "And yes, I really wish to do this, Carthan. In one sense, we have all the time in the world. What an adventure it would be!"

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes gazing beyond me as he pondered the possibilities – and the obstacles. He focussed on Vanat. "Will we be able to return to Barsoom if we wish?"

Vanat nodded. "We plan to send emigrants on a regular basis – perhaps every two or three years, though the timing has not yet been determined. Those who do not wish to stay on Jasoom may return with the ship, of course."

What could my prince do, but agree?

. . . . .

On the last day of lessons after our students had left and Carthan had gone to speak to Vanat in his office, I was putting the weapons away into a large cupboard in the gymnasium. I had been aware during practice that a man had been watching from the gallery, but had not looked at him closely. We often had curious spectators at our sessions. I was just about to put the last short sword into its slot, when I sensed something – an odor, perhaps; or breathing . . .

If I had not, there would be no one to tell my tale.

Instantly alert, I spun, and the razor-sharp point of the sword that was about to enter my heart from behind, slashed my leather tunic and sliced open several inches of flesh on my back. It was Gamon, his leer changing to dismay as he realized he had been an instant too slow. His surprise delayed his next move – I think he was waiting for me to fall – thus giving me a few seconds to focus.

After months of intensive sword play with Carthan and our students, and running with the calots every day, I was in superb physical condition, while Gamon appeared dissipated and even more gaunt than at our last meeting. The cut began to hurt and I felt hot blood streaming down my back. I repressed the sensations, pushing them below awareness as my sifu had once taught. Then I discovered my right arm was nearly useless, the muscle just below my shoulder blade having been severed.

I had learned long ago to fence with either hand and, gripping the hilt in my left, took the battle to Gamon. I was using the heavier short sword one-handed against his rapier and for a time I thought he had the edge. As it became apparent I was not about to faint as I ought, desperation drove him to desperate measures as he used every trick he knew against me. When he began to falter, I saw that he was having difficulty dealing with my left-handed cuts, and I emphasized them to confound him further. After a few moments of hard-fought exchanges, it dawned on Gamon that he was in mortal peril.

Aware that loss of blood was rapidly weakening my already-fatigued body, I pushed him harder, hoping to end it soon. The floor was now slippery and dangerous from smeared blood. Frantically retreating from my attack, one of Gamon's feet slid out from under him, his sword arm windmilling as he tried to regain balance. Pivoting counter-clockwise for added momentum, I backhanded the razor-edged short sword with everything I had left . . .

He was the first human being I had ever killed, but I felt nothing but relief as his head tumbled from his shoulders.

Utterly spent, I sank to my knees as the pain flooded back in waves. Gasping for breath, I tried to calm my pounding heart with an ancient technique, to little effect. Dimly I heard a shout – my name? – and looked up into the horrified face of Carthan as he sprinted across the floor toward me. He caught me in his arms just as I collapsed into oblivion. . .


	11. Chapter 11

EPILOGUE

I have often wondered if my longevity might have some connection to the fact that I heal with extraordinary rapidity. The wound on my back was serious and might have maimed a normal person on Earth, but with Rift City's prompt and efficient medical treatment the the damaged muscle regenerated and the long, bone-deep gash mended with scarcely a scar within a few days. I pampered myself for a few more days, but by the seventh day my body craved Taiji.

Lessons over, Carthan and I had little time for anything but his fencing drills and running with the calots. As expedition leaders we were responsible for supplying a space ship with sufficient food, water, and sundry supplies for 50 people on a six month flight to Earth. We had also to arrange for the tools, clothing, weapons and equipment for use by the immigrants after they landed, and that is where my life on Jasoom reaped benefits. I designed clothing both for men and women that I felt would be appropriate for the eighth century, and found a fabric manufacturer who was willing to experiment. The colonists themselves cut out the patterns to fit, and then hand-sewed the garments from various leathers and the nearly-indestructible "home-spun" provided to them. The results were remarkably authentic.

One further problem – that of the colonists' distinctive white hair – was solved by a clever geneticist who created a serum which, when taken orally, programmed the body to grow brown or black hair. By the time we arrived on Earth, and with a little judicious barbering, no one would have white hair. We did not know if the colour would carry through to the next generation, but that obstacle would have to be surmounted when, or if, it arose.

One day, with our departure imminent, we took the calots to the portal leading to our own era. Beyond it we could see Thiessa, still standing in the same position we had left her. Holding hands, Carthan and I prepared to pass through with Belle and Paddy by holding on to their delicate ears. Sensing the importance of staying close, they came along obediently.

". . . with you. . . oh! " Old Thiessa's unfinished farewell greeting ended in a surprised gasp as the four of us stepped back into her – our – world. Briefly, we explained what we planned to do, and she stood speechless in wonder. I hugged her, thanking her for everything she had done for us.

Carthan said, "If we do not return a moment from now, please tell the calots to go home – " and he gave her a specific phrase the calots would obey, whoever said it to them. "It will prevent them from returning through the portal, and eventually they will find their way back to Helium."

One of the hardest things I have ever done was to leave Belle and Paddy, even knowing that for them it would only be a matter of seconds before we returned. For us, however, it might be years.

Carthan and I looked at each other as we turned back to the portal. We knew not what lay before us, but whatever happened we would face it with joy and determination together .

Lara O'Dae

Ptarth, 1972


End file.
